


Friendship (in Theory)

by tygermine



Series: HMS Dramione [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Modern Era, Movie Reference, Post-Hogwarts, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: Men and women can't be friends because sex always ruins it.Maybe Malfoy and Granger can beat the odds and actually have a friendship without sex ruining it, right?





	1. No one wants to have sex with the First Lady of Czechoslovakia ...

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would never be in the amazing state it is, if not for the tireless efforts of my amazing beta Purpleyin. A thousand thank yous cannot express my gratitude completely.  
Any errors you might find are my fault. 
> 
> If you're under 30, you've probably never watched the amazing Ephron/Reiner classic - When Harry Met Sally.
> 
> This remix is based on the movie that redefined the way men and women interacted and held a mirror to our awkwardness and ridiculous cluelessness.
> 
> Enjoy.

A lot can be said in the defence of public transport unless one has actually had to rely on it. 

The rail replacement bus, for instance, is an almost mythical creature that few can claim to have used, let alone seen. The unoccupied seat on a full night bus leaving Camden can never be trusted.

Some unlucky commuters dared to use the Piccadilly Line from Osterley to Cockfosters one Saturday in July. They tried to hold their breath the entire time, but by Holborn, gave in and took an ill-advised deep breath. It was ill-advised because their noses just happened to be pressed into the hairy armpit of a large construction worker and they promptly passed out.

Having one’s own car was, in this current economic and ecological climate frowned upon as Not A Good Thing. But Hermione Granger was a rebel.

Yeah, baby. 

She was known for breaking rules and conventions in society all the time. Hell, she even fought a war as a teenager. If she wanted her own car, then by Merlin, she’ll have one.

Hermione pulled her Toyota Camry into the parking lot of Patricia’s ( _ please, call her Trixie _ ) apartment building. Being the amazing friend that she is, she offered to give Patricia’s ( _ seriously Minny, you can all me Trixie or even Trix _ ) boyfriend a lift to New York City from Boston.

She had met Patricia ( _ Minny, only my mom calls me Patricia _ ) the same way most women meet in a male-dominated environment - they shared a lunch table and bonded over a love of wine, pasta, and The Great British Bake Off. According to Patricia ( _ Do not call me Pat, okay? _ ) this was enough to ask Hermione for the favour, which she was more than happy to do seeing as how she was making the trip anyway.

It’s just over 4 hours away. Surely it won’t be a hardship, especially if this boyfriend is up for some carpool karaoke. Hermione had a playlist ready to rock.

Patricia ( _ oh my Gawd Minny, stop it!) _ was standing in the parking lot wrapped around a tall man and was currently snogging the ever-loving Morgana out of him. Hermione winced as she pulled up next to the couple as they seemed to be trying to re-enact the old Spice Girls hit  _ When Two Become One _ right there in public. 

Disgusting.

Hermione felt it in everyone’s best interests if she put a stop to this awful, public indecency charge waiting to happen, and leaned on the hooter.

The couple sprung apart and Hermione finally saw the boyfriend’s face.

Remember that July Tube trip from Osterley to Cockfosters? That was suddenly seeming far more appealing than the next four hours of her life.

“Minny! You’re here!”

Patricia swung from Draco Malfoy’s hickie littered neck. 

Hermione wanted to sink under the steering wheel but reminded herself that she was an adult and that meant being civil when needed. She also made a mental note to reward herself with the most expensive bottle of wine she could afford when she got to New York.

“This is Minny?” Draco’s eyebrows couldn’t seem to settle on an expression and hovered midway up his forehead.

“Yeah baby,” Patricia gave him a peck on the cheek. “Minny, this is my boyfriend, David Malone.”

Hermione choked on some spit and nearly bit her tongue. 

Patricia turned back to Draco and kissed him.

“I’m gonna miss you baby.”

Another kiss.

“Text me on the way.”

Another kiss.

“Call me.”

Another kiss that soon went from PG-13 to flirting with an R rating.

Hermione may have accidentally leaned on the hooter. “Sorry. We should leave now, or we’ll be stuck in traffic.”

She popped open the boot of the sedan and thankfully Draco understood that it was his cue to load his luggage into it, which consisted of one battered, dark blue suitcase, a duffel bag and a metal briefcase. With one last, lingering kiss, Draco finally broke free of Patricia and climbed into the passenger seat of the car.

“Minny.” His smile dripped with mockery. “Shall we go?”

Hermione grit her teeth and guided the car out of the parking lot and onto the road.

* * *

They had been on the road for about half an hour when Malfoy suddenly spoke up.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Hermione was doing her best to feign ignorance.

“The fact that you have so many questions and I won’t answer them.”

“Is that so?”

“You are dying to know what I’m doing in America with a Muggle girlfriend. You want to know why I’m going to New York and why I needed the lift.”

Hermione kept her eyes on the road, almost trying to imagine he wasn’t there. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on Granger. If you were a cat, you’d have died of curiosity ages ago.” He leaned back into his seat and stretched his legs with a grimace. “You couldn’t have chosen something with a little more space?”

“I don’t have passengers in my car often enough.”

The silence stretched along with the kilometres as they drove. Malfoy dug out a packet of M&Ms from one of his pockets and began to pop them, one by one, into his mouth.

His good mood worked on Hermione’s paranoia. Surely he was up to something nefarious? That was the only reason he was in such a pleasant mood. She could deal with Malfoy being mean or angry or quiet. A chipper Malfoy was an unknown creature and one she felt needed to be handled with caution. But he was right, the smug bastard. Hermione was slowly spiralling into imagining all sorts of scenarios about his presence in the States. Was he a fugitive from the law? Had his family kicked him out? Was karma just bored and decided to mess with her? This whole situation had her off-kilter and she didn’t like it one bit.

“So, why are you in the States?”

“Forty-eight minutes and twenty seconds. I owe myself a tenner. I really thought you would hold on until at least an hour had passed.” He popped another M&M into his mouth.

Hermione side-eyed him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he scoffed. “I’m not about to start throwing curses around. Look, I came to the States for some education, realised Muggle girls are a lot of fun and now I’m heading to New York to take over the family business. I don’t like public transport, I’m still on apparition restrictions and I never got a Muggle drivers license. Happy?”

“This has nothing to do with my happiness, Malfoy. I’m just relieved you realise the futility in cursing the driver.”

Malfoy huffed. “Look, I’m trying to be nice. Humour me and play along, will you?”

Nice? How does one navigate a conversation with someone when nice had never before been an option with them?  Careful Granger, for here be monsters. Of sorts. Some sort of reptile, surely. Right? On the other hand, maybe being an adult meant giving someone else the benefit of the doubt. But did Malfoy deserve it?

“Fine. Just keep the insults to a minimum and we should get along just fine.”

Evidently Hermione’s sub-concious thought he did.

It took four songs including a spirited sing-along to AC/DC by Malfoy before he spoke up again.

“What’s your story?”

“I think the more important question here is; when did you learn all the lyrics to Shook Me All Night Long?” She gave him a sideways glance.

“That is neither here nor there, but five points to Gryffindor for trying to dodge the question.  Come on Granger. Remember, I’m trying to be nice. Also, I’m bored. Maybe your prattling will make the time pass faster.”

“You can’t seem to help yourself, can you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You just have this way of insulting me while making it seem like a compliment. That’s offensive.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to regret asking.”

“No, no. You asked. So I will prattle all the way to New York. See, this is being nice too.”

Hermione then launched into a long-winded story of why she was in the States and what her plans were. She got a special joy when repeating verbatim conversations she’d had with Patricia making Malfoy wince.

The kilometres kept rushing by.

* * *

“That’s ridiculous. Only a hopeless romantic would want Bergman to stay.” Hermione pulled the Camry into the parking lot of a Waffle House just off the interstate near New Haven.

“So you’re saying you’d rather be the First Lady of Czechoslovakia than have amazing sex the rest of your life?”

“I’m saying I can’t believe you’ve actually watched Casablanca. And the two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Oh please, only someone who hasn’t had great sex will agree to that.” Malfoy pushed the door to the Waffle House open and waved her in ahead of him.

“I’ve had plenty of great sex,” she exclaimed walking in.

The hostess at the door choked on her greeting and simply led them to a nearby booth.

Malfoy slid in across from Hermione, a glint in his eye. “You won’t know that you’ve had great sex until you actually have it. Right now, you’re assuming the mediocre shags you’ve sighed through have been great. You haven’t got a decent baseline of reference and that is why you’d rather be the first lady than have decent sex.”

“You’re disgusting.” She put up the menu to block out his smirk.

Soon the waitress came over for their order.

“Just some coffee and the pancake stack,” Malfoy ordered.

“Is your pastrami sourced locally?”

The waitress shrugged.

“What about your bread? Is it baked on the premises?”

“It gets delivered in the mornings, that’s all I know.” The waitress looked as if she was trying really hard not to roll her eyes.

“So you aren’t sure of the source of the food in your kitchens?”

“A farm, probably.”

“But is it a local farm? You know what, nevermind. I will just have the chips - I mean fries.” 

The waitress took Hermione’s order in-stride, while Malfoy worked hard not to gape.

“So, why did you break up with Ron? Was it the bad sex you were having?”

“Don’t be vulgar, Malfoy.” Hermione crossed her arms. “The sex was fine. We just wanted different things. Besides, the success rate of school romances is so low, I’m surprised anyone marries the person they dated in school.”

Malfoy smirked. “It’s the name, Granger. Anyone with a name that makes you wince, is not a good name for sex. Think about it;  _ Oh Ron, right there...Ron. _ Makes you feel dirty afterwards, and not in a good way.”

“I’m not discussing this further with you.”

“Ergo, never had great sex.” He leaned back as the waitress brought their coffee.

Hermione ignored him.

* * *

Malfoy had finished his food and was sipping his second cup of coffee, watching Hermione as she worked out the bill, splitting it precisely.

“You owe $7.25,” she said, counting out her change for the bill fold.

Malfoy pulled out a ten-dollar note, dropped it on top and stood to leave. He waited for Hermione to finish and ushered her back to the car, the sun having set long ago.

“You know,” he said, watching her over the top of the car as she unlocked it and was climbing in. She paused at his words. “Objectively, you’re an attractive woman.”

Hermione frowned and climbed into the car.

“That is weird on so many levels.”

Malfoy settled into the passenger seat. “I don’t see why you think that.”

“Malfoy, you spent most of our childhood insulting my appearance and now, suddenly you’re telling me I’m attractive.”

“Objectively. You know, based on society’s norms and standards. You’ve fixed your teeth, grown into your curves and somehow, well, okay, not completely conquered your hair. It's impressive.”

“You’re shameless.”

“Which leads me to conclude that ultimately, we cannot be friends.”

Hermione pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the interstate. “So what you’re saying is that we can’t be friends because you find me attractive? Not because I’m Muggle-born, or a former member of the Order, or even smarter than you.”

“I’ve grown as a person, Granger. My views of the world have changed. Exhibit A: my Muggle girlfriend. Exhibit B: avoiding the wizarding world. I can’t be prejudiced anymore.”

“Unless it’s against attractive people.”

“Well, you can’t be friends with someone you want to have sex with.”

“You want to have sex with me? First off, that’s cheating on your girlfriend and secondly, what makes you think I want to have sex with you?”

“No, Granger, you’re missing the point. I don’t want to have sex with you specifically. It’s just that, as a good looking woman, I can’t be friends with you because, in the long run, the physical attraction will lead us to sex and kill our friendship. See, attractive people are always thinking about sleeping with other attractive people, ergo, they cannot be friends.”

“You need to get your head checked.”

“I stand by what I said.”

Hermione sighed. New York was a big city and even though they had a tumultuous past, it would have been nice to know at least one other person there. “It really is a pity you allow yourself to be ruled by your cock.” 

“Why’s that?”

“You’re the only person I know in New York and it’s preventing us from being friends.”

Malfoy was quiet the rest of the way.


	2. Marriage Equals Sex on Tap, Right?

3 years later

Hermione had learned many new things about herself over the past few years.

  1. White wine gave her headaches.
  2. She was a coffee snob.
  3. There was a serious lack of decent Indian take-out in her neighbourhood.
  4. Office parties were the work of the devil and should be avoided at all costs.

Hermione had been dating Cole Cochran for the last few months. She discovered that being a girlfriend to a lawyer required attending parties. A lot of parties. And not the fun kind, either.

They were quiet affairs with open bars, cigars and hors d’oeuvres on trays. 

Cole was ambitious and used every party to make a good impression with the senior partners. Hermione admired his drive and supported his dreams, but sometimes she wished his road to success had more flat shoe friendly events.

It had been nearly three hours of listening to small talk. The subtext was thick with threats, boasting and all-round dick measuring. Before she choked to death on the rampant testosterone and entitlement polluting the air, Hermione decided to have some fun of her own.

She pulled Cole into the coat check room, pushed him against a rack of thick winter coats and began to snog him senseless. 

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t get any bodily fluids on my wool coat.” The voice was male and the tone a touch above a sneer.

Hermione and Cole froze. 

Her lipstick was smeared across his mouth and up to his left cheek while her right leg was hooked around his waist. He had one hand firmly on her arse and the other was making its way towards her bra catch. 

“Don’t let me stop you, by all means. I just need my coat.”

Hermione knew that voice. She ducked her head and prayed for the ground to swallow her up.

Cole, being ever the gentleman, lowered Hermione’s leg from his waist, while keeping her mostly hidden from the intruder. He quickly adjusted himself before turning to greet the man who had walked in on them.

“Malone,” Cole nodded in greeting. “Nice to see you could make it.”

Hermione sank deeper into the rack, letting the coats surround her.

“I came, I drank, and now I'm leaving,” she heard Draco say. “How many more of these do you think you’ll have to attend in order to make partner?”

“Make me your lawyer tomorrow morning and I can cut my sucking up hours by half, at least.” Cole laughed at his joke, but Hermione could tell he was nervous. He had been talking about wanting to land the Drake Industries contract for months now.

Hermione snorted when she made the connection.

“Oh, David, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend.” Cole stuck his hand between the coats and pulled Hermione towards him. “Minny Granger. Minny, this is David Malone of Drake Industries.”

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Granger.” Draco was the epitome of courtesy. He took her hand and shook it gently, but she could see his amusement in the curl of his lips.

Cole wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Minny here is on the way to finding a cure for cancer.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that, thank you, Cole. I’m sure Mr Malone would rather just take his coat and head home.” She grabbed the nearest black coat and pulled it off the hanger. “This one, is it?” 

Draco took the coat from her,  barely contained mirth  in every line of his face. “Quite right. Thank you, Minny. Cochran, I’ll see you in the morning.” He swept out of the coat room.

Hermione counted to ten before sagging against Cole. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life.”

Cole wrapped both arms around her and began to kiss her neck. “Let’s forget it happened.”

“No. Stop. Sorry Cole,” she stepped out of his arms. “I’m not really in the mood anymore. I think I’m just going to go home.” Hermione pecked him on the cheek, located her shoes and pulled on her own wool coat. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

* * *

Draco Malfoy was standing on the pavement outside when Hermione exited the building.

“Still going by David Malone?” 

He turned at the sound of her voice. “I’m surprised you’re allowing him to keep his balls every time he calls you Minny.”

“He can’t pronounce my name properly,” Hermione muttered.

“Surely Granger is pronounceable? Minny is just…” Draco shook his head. “So, curing cancer these days.”

“Something like that.” Hermione started to walk down the road towards a hidden alcove from where she could Disapparate home. Draco fell into step with her. “Drake Industries? A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Still my name, no matter the language.”

They walked for a few minutes in silence before Draco caught her gently by the elbow. “There’s a good bar down this way,” he motioned with his head to the left. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a decent drink. The senior partners always buy cheap whiskey and pour it into the expensive bottles. I feel it’s their way of either being cheap or some weird test.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you, Draco.”

Draco blinked in surprise before barking out a laugh. “Yes, Granger. That’s my plan. Get you drunk, take you home and have my wicked way with you.”

“You said it yourself. You find me objectively attractive, therefore you’d want to have sex with me. Men don’t just buy a woman a drink for platonic reasons.”

“When did I say that?”

“Three years ago. When we drove down here. How could you possibly forget?”

Draco stared at her as if trying to find the memory through Legilimency. Hermione pulled away and continued to head towards the alcove.

“Wait. Stop!” Draco jogged to catch up with her. “I am embarrassed to admit I did say that, but it’s still true. However - would you please stop walking? Thank you. However, I have an addendum to add to my previous statement. People in relationships with other people can have platonic friendships.”

Hermione shook her head at him. “You’re full of it.” She allowed him to steer her back towards the bar.

“No, think about it. We’re both in relationships with people we find attractive and have sex with. So that means we won’t want to have sex with each other. It’s a win-win situation.”

“You’re in a relationship?” Hermione couldn’t help the incredulity that coloured her tone.

Draco nodded, a smile on his lips. It wasn’t like any smile Hermione had seen on him before. It looked, dare she say, real. “Engaged, actually. The wedding is in a few weeks. Here we are.”

He pushed open a nondescript door that led down into a dark, smokey room. It was narrow with a wooden bar counter running the length of the room on the right and booths lining the left. Draco guided Hermione to a booth at the back.

“Wine?” 

“Dealers choice,” she said, more interested in hearing about the woman that caught Draco’s heart.

He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of Makers Mark and two glasses. “It’s the closest I could find to Odgens.” He poured them each a measure and held up his glass. “Now that I think about it, people in relationships can’t be friends either.”

Hermione put down her glass and crossed her arms on the table. “How so?”

“Well, when you’re in a relationship, that should be enough, right? So if you make friends outside of that relationship with someone you find attractive then that leaves the other party of the relationship wondering why you had to go outside the relationship for something and it makes them resentful.” He took a sip of his whiskey and nodded. “I retract the addendum. People who find each other attractive can’t be friends.”

“Just when I think you’ve become a real boy you go and ruin it. Congratulations Malfoy, you’re still a caricature of a human.” Hermione raised her glass in mock salute before taking a sip.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. You missed your chance at taking me to bed and now you never will because I am affianced.” He had the audacity to look smug about it too.

“I never considered not sleeping with you a sacrifice.”

Draco’s expression slipped minutely.

“So, tell me who you suckered into marrying you.”

Draco’s whole face lit up in a way Hermione had never seen. Maybe he was the sucker?

“Genevieve. That’s her name. She’s amazing.” Draco’s tone was as close to swooning as Hermione had ever heard outside of a rom com.

“What makes her so amazing?”

“She’s gorgeous. She’s smart. She’s a surgeon - you know, a Muggle healer.”

“You’re marrying a Muggle?”

Draco didn’t deem that question worth answering and simply raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s actually perfect. And a relief.”

“You’re relieved about getting married?”

“Who wouldn’t be? Dating is a painful and expensive hobby. I’m glad to be out of it.”

“That is not a reason to get married, Malfoy.”

Draco leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “It is, though. Think about it, Granger. You’re constantly being set up by well-meaning friends and colleagues. You go to dinner, have the same conversations - where did you grow up? Where did you go to school? Which I have to lie through my teeth about. She’ll order a dessert to share. We go dancing at some club with awful music in some kind of ritualistic foreplay. We go back to hers, have a shag and then try to be home before the Late Late Show. “ He sips his drink before pointing a finger at her with the hand holding the glass. “See? Exhausting.”

Hermione found herself at a loss for words. The truth in Malfoy’s rant rang in her ears.

“And that makes marriage the answer?”

“Absolutely!” Draco winked at her. “Sex on tap.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh come on Granger. That’s what you’re aiming for with Cole, isn’t it?”

“Not for the shallow reasons you gave.”

“Not even the sex on tap?”

Hermione recognised button pushing when she heard it.

“So, what does Drake Industries actually do, besides feed your ego?”

Draco shrugged. “Subtle segue, Granger.”

Hermione fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Malfoy seemed to trigger a subconscious move back into childhood for her. Or maybe that’s the only way she really knows how to interact with him - petulant, childish, bratty. Adult Draco was an uncharted course that made Hermione equal parts nervous and infuriated. How can she have the upper hand when she doesn’t know how he’ll react?

“Mergers and acquisitions, mostly.” He seemed bored with the answer as if he has to answer it on a daily basis. “Are you really curing cancer?”

“Cole has a very simplistic view of my work. I research infectious diseases and work on blending magic with parasitic defences to innoculate and breed the diseases into extinction.”

Malfoy smiled indulgently and leaned back in his seat. “Still the boffin then.”

If there was a term Hermione hated more than Mudblood, it was boffin. It took her back to school before Hogwarts, where the children would sneer it at her. An almost visible divide between her and her classmates. Intellect was nothing to celebrate, instead used to isolate and ridicule. Sadly, it followed her throughout her life.

She wanted to throw her drink in Malfoy’s face and tell him exactly where to shove his opinions, and yet, she was curious at how he viewed his new life and circumstances. He was about thirty degrees off from what she expected. Misaligned to her knowledge and perception of him. It made her uncomfortable.

“Leopards and spots,” she responded. “With Genevieve being a Muggle, are you really sure about starting a marriage based on lies?”

“The only lie is my name and is it really that much of a lie? I haven’t been a Malfoy for years now. I thought you of all people would advocate second chances. This, Granger, is mine.”

“So if your children start randomly levitating their toys, you have a cover story ready?”

Draco stilled for a moment, a shadow of an expression flickering across his face. “Genevieve has decided to remain childfree,” he muttered darkly, shuffled in his seat and then looked up at her. “Which suits me just fine. Certain genetic traits should not be passed down.” 

He was smiling, but it held no warmth.

She felt a tug at her heart and before she did something regrettable, like hold his hand, she checked her watch.

“Look at the time. I really should go.” She slid out of the booth. “Good luck Malfoy. It was...interesting to see you again.”

She left without a backwards glance.


	3. Being A Mistress Isn't As Much Fun As It Seems...

3 years later.

“So, she had promised me for ages she’d take me away for the weekend. But the other night, she was taking a shower and I happened to find a receipt in her jacket for a pair of Louboutin shoes. Size 5s. She’s a size 7.”

Hermione shook her head at her friend. 

“She’s never going to leave her.” Abigail sighed heavily and took a sip of wine. “You’re right. You’re right. She’s never going to leave her wife for me.”

Abigail and Hermione had become friends when she joined the medical research company Hermione worked for. Abigail was a half-blood with a talent for gene research and choosing the wrong kind of person to fall in love with. 

“At least you’re getting laid,” groused Geoff from across the table. He was as pure-blooded as the Weasleys, worked in Accounts and had recently become a father with his Muggle-born wife. “Ever since Logan came along, Angela has avoided my cock as if it was a plague-carrying rat.”

Abigail choked on her wine. “I really don’t want to know about your lack of manscaping, Geoff. Do you blame her? You infected her with pregnancy. It caused her to get swollen ankles, gain a stone or two and now she’s not going to sleep for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s a bit harsh.” Hermione chided her friend. “Logan is a cutie and comparing pregnancy to a parasitic infection is unfair.”

“Is that a biological clock I hear ticking?” Abigail teased and Geoff’s face morphed into a hopeful grin. He couldn’t wait for Hermione to settle down and have a family of her own. If only for Logan to have friends whose parents he actually liked.

Hermione ducked her head and began to fidget with her napkin. “Cole and I… we…”  _ had a blowout argument that had the neighbour's dogs barking? Cost me a whole dining set of Peruvian ceramics? I nearly hexed his balls off? _ “...decided to go our separate ways.”

“When the hell did this happen?” Abigail demanded in a low voice, taking Hermione's hand.

“Why, is what I want to know. I had been expecting a summer wedding this year.”

The look Abigail shot Geoff could have turned him to stone.

Hermione forced herself to smile. “It’s not the end of the world, you know. We had a civilised talk ( _ she had almost incinerated his tie collection _ ) and realised we wanted different things ( _ he had thrown her collection of potted herbs off the balcony _ ) and that was it.”

“You know,” Geoff pulled out his phone. “Justin in Marketing is single. I can give him a call.”

“No!” Hermione slapped his phone down onto the table. “I mean, I’m still…” She grappled for a moment or two for the right word. “Mourning. I mean, it won’t be fair to use Justin as a rebound.”

Geoff seemed to accept this and put his phone away as Abigail’s phone chimed. She pulled it out of her pocket and scoffed at the message. She held it up for the table to read.

“She cancelled dinner,” Abigail sneered.

“She’s never going to leave her,” echoed Hermione and Geoff.

* * *

If there was one thing Draco didn’t regret doing in his life, it was keeping Blaise as a friend. With his new identity, he still needed someone in his life who knew where he came from and if there was one person who could keep him humble, it was Blaise Zabini.

He also made an excellent drinking partner and proved that at this very moment.

The pair were sitting on Blaise’s balcony that overlooked Regent’s Park as Blaise refused to visit New York. His excuse changed every time Draco brought it up, but they were all lame. Blaise just didn’t like to Portkey. Anyway, the pair were working their way through a case of Peroni and a few bottles of Ogdens.

“And so she just moved out?”

Draco sneered at the bottle of beer in his hand. “Yes, she did. But that’s not the best part.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows as he sipped his beer.

“She said she needed a break. It’s not even fully formed, right? It’s hanging there in the air like a speech bubble in a cartoon, when there’s a knock on the door. It was the movers. I mean, a break means a week away. A few days of clothes, right? A suitcase at the most. Not everything she owns. You know what that means?”

Blaise waited for a few moments to make sure Draco’s question wasn’t rhetorical. “The mover knew-”

“The mover knew I was getting divorced before I did,” Draco spoke over him. “But here’s the real low point. The proverbial kick to the balls. She’s moving in with him.”

“The mover?”

“Don't be obtuse, it doesn't suit you.She lied to my face. Said she was moving in with a friend. So I followed her home one night. The friend was him.”

“Fucking hell.” Blaise emptied his beer and pulled the bottle of Ogden's closer.

“Fucking hell indeed,” Draco echoed, taking a sip of his beer, only to find the bottle empty. Blaise swapped the empty bottle with a tumbler holding a few fingers of whiskey.

“I asked her,” Draco continued after taking a sip from his glass. “I had to know if she loved me. That’s how bad it got. I grovelled while there were movers all around us, packing up. A public display of shredding my dignity into a thousand pieces. And you know what she said?”

He emptied his tumbler before continuing.

“She said - I don’t know if I ever loved you.”

“What did you say?” Blaise asked, taking the tumbler and refilling it.

“What could I say? How do you respond to something like that? Three years. Three fucking years of brunches and Yules with her family in the Berkshires. For what?”

“Tell me you were smart enough to sign a prenup.”

“We did, but a prenup doesn’t get me back the time I wasted with her.” He took the tumbler from Blaise. “The worst part of all this? Which is saying something, but the truly evil part of this whole thing? The bitch took my entire collection of Terry Pratchett novels.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘Why is a wizard reading Muggle books about wizards?’

“His satire is superb and it's the sodding principle of the matter. You don’t steal a man’s book or vinyl collection. But she left behind my shredded heart and those god-awful ceramic cat figurines. I ended up using them for target practice.”

“Cathartic?”

Draco nods. “For an hour at most.”

They sipped their whisky.

“Now I’ve got to start dating again.” Draco sighed.

“Isn’t life a bitch,” commiserated Blaise.

* * *

Between Abigail and Geoff, Hermione found herself on her toes whenever a single man was in the area.

It was as if their radars were set to super sensitive and they were not shy about making introductions before disappearing, leaving Hermione to make awkward small talk with whomever they’d dumped on her.

Hermione liked to think of it as her friend’s good intentions paving the way to hell and she was desperate to find the off-ramp.

“Maybe if I spice things up?”

Abigail held up a copy of  _ The Lesbian Kama Sutra  _ by Kat Harding. Hermione shook her head.

“She’s never going to leave her,” Abigail sighed and returned the book to the shelf. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

Hermione was paging through a copy of  _ Bad Feminist  _ by Roxane Gay when Abigail nudged her with an elbow.

“There is a tall blond eyeing you from the self-help section.”

Before she could stop herself, Hermione glanced up and locked eyes with Malfoy. He quickly ducked behind a copy of  _ Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. _

“That’s just Malfoy,” she sighed and went back to her book.

“Wait,” Abigail grabbed her elbow. “As in Draco Malfoy? I thought he died.”

Hermione shrugged and placed the book on the shelf. “I guess that’s what he wanted everyone to think.” She picked up a copy of  _ Cunt  _ by Inga Muscio, hoping Malfoy would not come over.

“He’s coming over.”

Abigail gently removed the book from Hermione's hands, dumping it on a pile of baby name books on the table behind her.

“Granger,” Malfoy...wasn’t sneering.

Hermione looked up at him. He didn’t have his usual smug expression on either. He looked...

“Malfoy. This is-” Hermione turned to Abigail, who was already heading towards the shop door “-was Abigail.”

Fuck.

“It’s been a while,” Malfoy stated, his expression seeming unable to settle on an emotion. 

“Three years,” Hermione supplied.

“You’re doing well?”

Small talk. Malfoy was attempting small talk with her. Smug, snarky and sarcastic she could deal with. This Malfoy shaped pod person was another story.

“As well as can be expected.” What the hell was that? “Still happily married?” Oh dear Merlin, someone please gag her.

“Divorced, actually. Still shagging that lawyer?”

“Not for a while now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

The silence echoed the awkwardness around them. There was no reason for them to continue the conversation. They weren’t friends. At best, they could claim distant acquaintances that shared some childhood trauma. That doesn’t mean they have anything to talk about now, does it? 

And yet both of them felt some odd sense of obligation to care about the other, if only in the vaguest definition of the word. That is the only way to explain what happened next.

“Drink?” He finally blurted. “It’s...we can...catch up?”

“Yes. Sure. Super. Brilliant. Fantastic.”

* * *

The pub Malfoy had chosen wasn’t far from the bookstore. They found a booth and ordered a round. In the time it took for their drinks to be delivered, neither could look the other in the eye, choosing instead to take in the faux prohibition decor, the specials board boasting a variety of craft beers and a toy train set hanging above the bar. Their relief when the drinks were delivered was embarrassingly obvious.

Malfoy sipped his pint, covertly observing Granger across from him.

She hadn’t changed much, physically at least, since he’d last seen her. Same brown curls, same brown eyes, same snobbish tilt to her head. But Granger had always had a spark to her actions, her tone when she spoke. Malfoy couldn’t see it anymore and that made him curious.

“He wasn’t good enough for you,” Malfoy said. 

“Six months ago, I would have disagreed with you.”

“And now?”

Hermione shrugged. “It was good, at first. You know? We were happy. Everyone was getting married and having kids and we just… didn’t. We’d say it was because we liked the freedom. We could just pop off to Aruba for the weekend or have sex anywhere in the flat.” She took a sip of wine.

“What happened?” he asked, curious as to why Granger and Cole broke up while entertaining ideas to jinx the lawyer next time they crossed paths.

“I was babysitting my friend’s daughter, Sophia, while her mom was in labour with her little sister, Logan. Anyway, we went to the zoo, because children like that kind of thing. We were playing that game, I Spy? And Sophia says “I spy a family” and she was pointing at this couple pushing a pram and I just...I went home and said to Cole that we never do go to Aruba for the weekend, we just work all the time. We’re not happier than anyone else.”

“And the sex anywhere in the flat?” Malfoy couldn't help himself from asking.

“Cold Italian terracotta tiles are no one’s friend.”

Malfoy nodded knowingly. “That’ll do it.”

“The worst part about it is that he made me feel guilty about wanting more. Like just the two of us had to be enough, and wanting more would be selfish. I ended up moving out.” She finished her wine and motioned for a refill at the waiter. “At least it was cheaper than getting a divorce.”

“True. But I got to keep the flat.”

“Oh, well done.”

“Too bad I couldn’t keep the wife too.”

This startled a laugh out of Hermione. “Who knew you were funny?”

“Well, Blaise for a start.”

“You’re still friends with him?”

“I consider it more an exercise in altruism.”

Hermione found herself laughing more that afternoon than she had in ages. Malfoy had a dry wit that she hadn’t really appreciated before. Maybe because it was more self-deprecating now instead of aimed at her, or it could have just been the wine.

They’d fallen into a comfortable, introspective silence after a while when Malfoy cleared his throat.

“I was a real arse to you, wasn’t I?”

“Are you talking about Hogwarts or afterwards?”

“All of it?”

“Yes, you were an arse and a bully.”

Malfoy leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What’s your statute of limitations on apologies?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side. Between the wine and the company, she was feeling rather magnanimous. “About ten years.”

The smile that widened on Malfoys lips was dazzling. “Excellent, I can slip mine in. I am sincerely sorry, Granger. For everything.”

“Malfoy, does this mean we’re becoming friends?”

“Oh brilliant,” he deadpanned despite his smile. “A woman friend.”

“Add it to your personal growth chart,” she returned his smile.


	4. I Didn't Realize You Loved Sushi That Much...

“She's ruined me, you know?”

Draco kicked at a stone as they walked through Central Park. The leaves were turning from a vibrant green to the autumnal kaleidoscope of oranges and reds. Hermione walked beside him, bundled in her Hogwarts scarf against the chill. They had started meeting on Sunday afternoons and taking random strolls around the city. Draco used the time to unpack his feelings about the divorce as Blaise wasn’t great at Floo calls, and he found walking helped him get his thoughts in order.

“I’m not used to sleeping alone. I still go to bed on the right side and wake up in the same spot, like I’m waiting for her to come join me. That's if I sleep at all.” He glanced at Hermione. “What about you?”

She shrugged. “I used to do that, all bundled on my side, but now I wake up in the middle of the bed. What do you do when you can’t sleep?”

“Paperwork, mostly. But I found a tv channel that shows old Muggle movies. So now I dream in black and white.” He’s silent for a beat. “Which is good, because now my dreams match what I see when I’m awake.” He smiled, encouraging Hermione to acknowledge his joke. She sighed instead, nudging him with her elbow.

“I want to point out that we survived a war and that our romantic failings shouldn’t matter as much…” she trailed off.

“True,” Draco agreed. “But this feels personal. I couldn’t control the Dark Lord, but I could control my relationship.”

“We can’t control how other people feel.”

“I know a spell that can help with that.”

Hermione stopped dead. “Not funny, Malfoy.”

“It’s funny because it’s true. “ He felt the need to point out. “Come on,” he gently took her elbow. “I hear the bartender at McGinty’s is doing weird and wonderful things to their mulled wine.”

Sliding into a booth armed with Patrick's mulled wine an hour later, Draco noticed that Granger hadn’t spoken much during the afternoon.

“Do you miss him?” He asked, choosing to look at his drink instead of her face.

“I thought I did.” Hermione fidgeted with a beer mat advertising McGinty’s Quiz Nights on Wednesdays. Shots and Prizes to the Winners! Bookings essential. “I think I just miss the idea of him. You know, having someone waiting for you at home at the end of a long day. Someone who has your back. Someone who can work from home when you’re waiting for the guys to come fix the router for the wifi.”

“They cancel again?”

“I’ve been offline for two weeks. It’s annoying.” Hermione shook her head and sipped her wine. “I had a plan, you know. It was all laid out. I saw a future. But now…” She waved her hand as if to say ‘now there’s nothing’.

“It’s like you had a path all lit up and now there’s just this big question mark hanging over your future.” Draco attempted a smile but it faltered.

“Exactly.”

“And it just looms there and you start asking yourself if it’s worth trying to find a new person. Do you have enough time to find them? Will you die alone and they will only find your body because the neighbours started to complain about the smell.”

Hermione snorted. “Okay, that turned maudlin far too fast. You’re still young. You still have time.”

“But do I have the patience?”

“Have you tried dating again?”

“I got married in order to stop dating.”

“You have to start dating again sometime, Malfoy,” Hermione pointed out.

“There are only two things I have to do, Granger. Call my mother once a week and pay my taxes. And my lawyer is looking into the taxes.” Draco leaned back in his seat. “I don’t see you filling up your calendar with eligible young wizards.”

“I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Malfoy simply cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Touche,” she conceded.

  
  


* * *

“I think the problem with dating is that every woman I meet is high maintenance.”

They were at a fundraiser for the company Hermione worked for. She had given a presentation of the work they had been doing, censored for the Muggle audience, and now her and Draco were taking advantage of the open bar.

“That’s a fallacy. Not all women are high maintenance. I’m certainly not.” Hermione objected as they leaned against the bar, watching the crowd.

“You’re deluded if you think you’re low maintenance.”

Hermione pulled a face at him.

“Case in point,” Draco cleared his throat. “Is this locally sourced? Organic? Free-range? I can only eat it if it had lullabies sung to it before it was harvested.”

“Oh sod off! If I’m so high maintenance then I wouldn’t have had a date last weekend.”

Draco choked on his drink. “Didn’t you tell me last month that you weren’t ready?”

“I wasn’t then.”

“First date or only date?”

Hermione took a long sip of her drink.

“Ha! I knew it.” Draco crowed. “Only date, because you’re high maintenance.”

“Like you’re such a delight,” she threw back at him. “At least I’m trying. You’re wallowing.”

She had him there. Draco felt the irrational need to justify his continued singleness.

“I’ve had plenty of offers I’ll have you know. I just hate dating.”

“Ah, the cowardly broken record bit.”

“You say, coward, I say an exercise in mental health preservation.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and motioned to the barman for another round.

* * *

“You know how all the break-up articles keep saying that being single is the time to work on yourself and your hobbies?”

Draco paused, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “No, because I don’t read self-help.”

The salmon sashimi slipped from the chopsticks and landed with a splat in the small dish of soy sauce in front of him. Draco grunted in annoyance. “I don’t need other people telling me how to live my life.”

“Says the owner of a copy of Men Are From Mars.” Hermione snarked from behind her cup of sake. “Anyway, I attended a tap-dancing class the other day. By seven I was in bed. I haven’t done that since I was in pre-school.”

“One good thing about depression, you get a lot of sleep.”

“I’m not depressed.”

Silence fell over the table. Hermione was sure she wasn’t depressed. She didn’t fit any of the symptoms. She was just tired from her dance class. And her latest project at work was taking up a lot of her time too. And there was that new lab intern who had to constantly be supervised. She had a lot going on, dammit. Hermione Granger did not get depressed. She got angry and vengeful.

“I like to read,” Draco broke the silence after a bit. He chased the sashimi around the dish until it flopped onto the table. He threw his chopsticks down and picked up the fish with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. “I find myself skipping to the end of the book.”

“Why?”

“In case I die in my sleep.”

Hermione blinked owlishly at him before narrowing her eyes and pointing her chopsticks at him. “You need to start dating again. Properly.”

“I had a date last night, actually.”

She made a noise of interest around the maki in her mouth.

Draco rolled his eyes. “It was fine until she pulled a strand of hair from her head and started flossing with it at the table.”

Hermione pulled a face at that.

“Exactly,” He chose a piece of California roll from the plate with his finger, having abandoned the chopsticks completely.

“I guess it’ll be a while before we feel ready to sleep with people again.” Hermione sipped her sake.

“Oh, no. I totally shagged her afterwards. Don’t look at me like that. She got her orgasm and I got mine.”

Hermione shook her head. “I doubt she orgasmed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m just saying,” Hermione chose a slice of tuna sashimi and dipped it in the soy sauce. “Most women don’t orgasm.”

“Are you saying she faked it?”

Hermione simply shrugged.

“Not with me. I’d know.” His mind flashed back to every shag he’d ever had, trying to separate the fake from the real orgasms. Genevieve made up most of the reel in his head, her moans, sighs, giggles. She definitely never faked her orgasms, didn’t she?

“Would you? Really?”

Draco looked her in the eye. “Definitely.” Maybe.

Hermione let the subject drop and popped the fish into her mouth letting out a soft, subtle moan.

Her right hand moved up to her neck before running down to her clavicle softly scratching the skin. She closed her eyes and let out another soft moan.

“Oh gods,” she muttered.

“I know, the tuna tastes odd,” Draco said, dropping the piece he held.

“Hmmmm,” Hermione tilted her head back and arched her back. “Yes. There.” She ran her hands through her hair, pushing her chest out, grinding herself against her seat. “Yes, yes yes. Oh gods,” she began to chant wantonly.

Draco didn’t know where to look as Hermione began a sinuous roll of her hips that reached her shoulders as if riding the chair she was in.

“Oh oh oh. Yes!” She began bouncing in her seat, her voice growing louder and louder. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

She threw her head forward creating a wall of hair before flinging it back, her hands grabbing the edge of the table.

A hush had fallen over the sushi bar.

Hermione released her grip on the table, sat up and popped a piece of maki into her mouth utterly non-plussed.

Draco simply gaped at her, speechless.

A voice broke the quiet. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

* * *

The days grew shorter and colder. Yule passed with very little fanfare and before they knew it, New Year’s Eve had arrived.

Drake Industries threw a lavish party for its employees and Draco made sure to invite Hermione, who had planned to stay in to watch The Big Fat Quiz of the Year and  Jools Holland’s Hootenanny  while drinking a bottle of vodka.

“See, it’s not that bad,” Draco said as they did a bastardised foxtrot to Ella Fitzgerald’s Dancing Cheek to Cheek. “Here we are, dancing, celebrating. It’s good to be single.”

Hermione sighed.

“What’s wrong? Look, we can even dance cheek to cheek.” He pressed his cheek to hers, catching a whiff of her perfume. Citrus and spices. She smelled like warmth and comfort. He quickly pushed the thought away as he pulled back to look at her. “Come on Granger, New Years isn’t for being sad. I paid for enough booze to guarantee maximum festive levels are reached.”

“It’s nothing. I just...with Cole I had someone to kiss on New Years. It’s a stupid tradition, but I do like it.”

Before he could second guess himself, Draco leaned in and pecked Hermione softly on the lips.

“There. Happy New Year, Granger.”

* * *

Hermione and Abigail were raiding the sales racks at Bloomingdales.

“I bought her a gorgeous cashmere sweater for Yule.” Abigail held up a dark blue knit dress before returning it to the rack. “You know what she got me?”

“A gift voucher?”

“A fucking gift voucher. For Pottery Barn.”

“She's never going to leave her wife.”

“You’re right. You’re right. She’s never going to leave her.”

Hermione ran her fingers over a soft wool cardigan. “Have you thought about finding someone else?”

Abigail snorted. “I can't date a Muggle for obvious reasons” (being that she can’t keep a secret to save her life) “and the pool of eligible wizards and witches is pathetically small.”

“What about Draco?”

“I thought you two were dating?”

Hermione huffed in amusement. “No. We’re just friends.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. Look, we’ve known each other most of our lives. It would be weird, especially since I don’t have any romantic feelings for him.”

“Then what feelings do you have for him?”

Hermione thought about it for a few moments. 

“Pity, mostly.”

* * *

“Come on Blaise. Granger isn't like she was in school. I’m sure you’ll get on now.”

Draco had invited Blaise to spend the week in New York, despite Blaise’s opinions about the city.

“If she’s so great, why aren’t you dating her?” Blaise fiddled with his tie in the mirror of the guest room.

“No. Granger and I are friends at best. I don’t want to lose that.”

Blaise shrugged and grabbed his jacket. “Fine, I’ll let you believe your lie. Let’s go.”

* * *

The Bistro was wizarding New York’s premier restaurant. It had unparalleled views of the city through its floor to ceiling windows and the menu simply read “Challenge the Chef”.

The foursome sat at the table, Hermione across from Draco and Blaise across from Abigail.

Blaise had ordered an expensive Australian Chardonnay and once the waiter had taken their starter order, silence had prevailed.

“Abigail, did you know that Malfoy likes to read Muggle fiction?” Hermione said in desperation to avoid the awkward atmosphere. She knew Abigail was as avid a reader as herself.

“Really Draco? Who do you read?” Abigail asked politely.

“At least not Pratchett anymore,” Blaise cut in with a snort.

Abigail wrinkled her nose at that. “I never cared for him.”

Silence fell as their starters arrived.

“Granger, Blaise doesn’t make it known, but he does a lot of work with sustainable farming organisations.” It was Draco’s turn to contribute to the conversation.

“Oh. That must be rewarding work.” Hermione tried to smile.

“The tax write off certainly is,” he smirked.

Blaise jerked suddenly, his knee hitting the table and threw a dark look at Draco.

The scraping of knives and forks on porcelain was the only noise for a while.

“Winter in New York always gets me down,” said Abigail out of the blue. “I say to myself every year I will save up enough to winter somewhere warm, like Thailand.”

Blaise perked up at this. “I happen to own a villa on the east coast of Thailand. Right on the beach.” 

“I’ve always wanted to go. The pictures look like paradise.”

“I’ll be happy to give you the villa for as long as you’d like.” Blaise winked.

Hermione and Draco exchanged glances.

After dinner, the group decided to take a slow walk down the block.

“Oh Hermione, aren’t those the shoes you wanted to buy?” Abigail steered Hermione towards a boutique window display. “So, Blaise. Do you like him?”

Hermione shrugged. “Not really.”

“So it’s okay if I go have a drink with him?”

Behind them, Blaise loudly announced that he was tired and was going to head home.

“Can I walk you home?” He called to Abigail.

“Absolutely.”

And off they went, leaving Hermione and Draco on the sidewalk.

“That did not go as I had planned,” muttered Hermione. 

Draco shrugged. “I give it three weeks.”

  
  



	5. We're Mature Adults, Aren't We?

“I can’t believe they’re moving in together. It’s only been three weeks,” exclaimed Hermione as she and Draco perused the homeware department at Barney’s.

“If moving in together doesn’t split them up, then nothing will. Blaise is a slob.” Draco examined an intricately decorated dinner plate. 

“What do you get a couple that has everything?” 

“A prenup and…” 

“And what? Malfoy?” Hermione looked around to see where Draco had disappeared to. She spotted him strutting down the aisle towards the electronics section. She followed curiously.

Draco was bent over what looked like a large speaker. As she approached, he spun around to face her. “There’s a lot of things that Muggles make that I don’t understand, but this right here, this is the greatest achievement in the history of Muggledom.”

“A karaoke machine? You can’t be serious.”

“Come on Granger, imagine the possibilities! Here’s let’s try one song.” He pressed a few buttons before a familiar tune began to play.

“ _ Summer lovin had me a blast  _ \- come on Granger, you sing when the words are pink,  _ met a girl crazy for me. _ Your turn.”

Hermione stared at Draco as if he’d grown a second head, surprised by his smooth tenor tones. “You know, just when I think I know you-”

He pressed the second microphone into her hands and pointed at the screen. She rolled her eyes in response before hesitantly singing along.

A few bars later, Hermione was really into the song, belting out about summer nights and wella wella when she noticed Draco was not participating anymore.

“It’s my voice, isn’t it? I never was a singer,” she was saying when Draco cut her off.

“It’s Genevieve.”

“Genevieve?” The feedback from the microphone into the speaker echoed the turntable needle screech sound she felt in her head. 

Draco stood frozen as Hermione randomly pressed buttons on the karaoke machine to turn it off. When she looked up, she saw a willowy woman with long black hair dressed in that casual expensive way rich people do. You know, the $1000 jeans with artful embellishments along the pockets and a cashmere sweater that made Hermione nervous to check the price tag. In short, Genevieve was gorgeous and Hermione understood why Draco was such a mess.

“David,” Genevieve smiled at him.

“Genevieve.” Draco seemed to choke on her name.

“This is Harold,” she gestured to the man standing next to her. Harold was unremarkable in every way. He was also easily fifteen years older than Genevieve.

Malfoy seemed to snap out of whatever stupor Genevieve’s arrival had pushed him into and he remembered his manners. “Nice to meet you, Harold. This is Granger. I mean, Hermione. Granger.”

No one shook hands. 

“Well, it was nice to see you again, David.” Genevieve's smile seemed genuine as she left with Harold trailing just a step behind her.

“So, that was Genevieve,” was all Hermione could find to say as she admired how the cut of Genvieve’s jeans did wonders for her backside.

“That was Genevieve.” Draco shook his head as if shaking off the interaction with his ex-wife. “She looked tired. Didn’t she look tired to you? She’s definitely bloated. Did you notice that?”

Hermione hummed in agreement and steered Malfoy out of the store.

They eventually settled on a ficus for Blaise and Abigail’s new apartment and took a slow walk to the brownstone. Malfoy was uncharacteristically quiet the whole way.

When they got to the apartment a little while later, they walked into what could only be a lovers spat. Blaise and Abigail were standing on either side of a painting leaning against the wall.

“Banksy is a commentator on the modern existence and its multiplicity,” Blaise was arguing as Abigail stood with her arms crossed and stared him down.

“It’s not even an original, Blaise. It’s a print copy and it’s ugly.”

“Malfoy, come help me here. It’s not that bad,” Blaise called to Draco who was carefully picking his way across the apartment without knocking into any of the moving boxes. He got a shrug for an answer.

“Hermione, please explain to Blaise that street art belongs on the street and not on my living room wall.” Abigail turned to her friend, who simply gave her a weak smile.

“I am not getting rid of this,” blustered Blaise.

“Then put it in your office.”

They were interrupted by a sardonic laugh coming from Draco. “You know, Genevieve and I were like this in the beginning. Arguing over which artwork to hang, which tiles to redecorate the bathroom with. The next thing you know, you’re spending thousands on lawyers fees arguing over who’s getting that ugly painting that neither of you actually want, but you’ll be damned if the other gets it. Before you know it, you’re caught singing Summer Nights in Barney’s by Harold. Listen to me now, both of you. Put a charm on your books so when it comes time to separate, she doesn’t run off with your entire Terry Pratchett collection.”

Malfoy’s voice had steadily gotten louder and louder until he was shouting. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione winced. “We ran into Genevieve.” With that, she followed him out.

Abigail turned to Blaise and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh sweetheart, I can promise you one thing. I will never, ever want that ugly painting.”

Outside Hermione found Malfoy leaning against the wall of the building, brooding in a way that was familiar to her.

“What the hell was that?” She demanded.

“It’s nothing,” he bit out.

“Your little rant up there wasn’t nothing, Malfoy.”

“Why don’t you ever get upset about anything? Cole was a total wanker to you and you haven’t even cried over it.”

“I don’t see the point of crying over spilt milk.”

“Then why aren’t you dating people? Meeting them, moving on?” He narrowed his eyes at her and Hermione recognised the nasty streak that he had as a child come back to the fore and it pissed her off. “Why are you not putting yourself out there like the rest of us? I thought you Gryffindors are supposed to be brave. Or have you put such high standards on men that they’re impossible to meet, giving you an excuse to stay single?”

“Well, bloody hell, Malfoy. It’s not like it’s working for you, is it? You’ve slept with nearly every woman in New York, and yet here you are, still being blindsided by Genvieve. You obviously haven’t moved on.” She paused for a moment. “It’s not about sex for me. You need to understand that. When I sleep with someone, it has to be someone I care about. It has to be making love. So back the fuck off.”

Draco had the good grace to be contrite in the face of her words.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

That was the thing about Malfoy. He could push her buttons and send her blood pressure to dangerous heights, but all he had to do was apologise and she completely forgave him. Hermione felt this reaction to him needed further investigation, but if she was being honest with herself, that way lay feelings better left ignored and undiscovered.

She let him pull her into a hug and felt his heartbeat slow down the longer they hugged. This is what being friends is all about, isn’t it?

* * *

Draco was sitting at home going over the quarterly reports and entertaining the idea of firing his VP of marketing when his Floo lit up.

“Malfoy?” Something in Granger’s voice immediately had his attention. Had she been crying?

“Granger, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry to call so late.”

“It’s no bother. What’s going on?”

“Can you come over?”

“I’ll be right there.” He stepped through the Floo and into her apartment.

Tear tracks lined her face and her lips were red and swollen. She was blowing her nose with a tissue while standing in her living room in her bathrobe.

“Hi,” she sniffed.

“Hello,” he said cautiously. Crying women made him uncomfortable and angry at the same time and it was really confusing.

“Sorry for calling you so late.”

“Just tell me who made you cry. I have a new jinx I want to try out.”

Hermione burst into fresh tears. Well, that didn’t work. He tried a new approach and took her in his arms. “What happened?”

“Cole called me today, out of the blue. I said hi. He said hi. I asked why he called. He said he wanted me to hear it from him directly.” She hiccuped and blew her nose. “I need a new tissue.”

Draco spotted the box on the coffee table amongst the sea of used tissues and quickly handed her a clean one. 

She took it and blew her nose again before continuing. “So what is it, I asked. He said he met someone. Her name is Chastity. They’re getting married next month.” Hermione sank onto the sofa. “He can’t get married to Chastity. She was supposed to be his transitional person. Not the person he gets married to!”

“Well, if you ask me, she sounds like a stripper. I give it three weeks.”

“He always said he didn’t want to get married. Turns out he didn’t want to marry me.” She curled into herself and ended with her head on his shoulder.

“It’s his loss really.”

“I’m difficult.”

“No, you’re not. You just like things the way you like them.”

“I push people away.”

“Now you’re just talking nonsense.” He gently pushed some of the curls from her forehead and placed a chaste kiss there.

She tilted her head back to look at him. “Maybe I’m too damaged to be in a relationship.”

“If that’s true then I should move into a cabin in the woods for the rest of my life.” Draco gave her a soft kiss on the lips. It reminded her of the kiss he gave her on New Year's Eve. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Hermione returned his kiss, letting it linger just a little. It had been so long since she had such intimate contact with someone, she hadn’t realised how much she craved it. He frowned before pushing forward and kissing her deeply, his fingers gently touching her neck and jaw. His tongue brushed her lips and she let him in. As she allowed herself to get lost in the feel of Draco against her, the last thing she was aware of was the world tilting as she landed on the soft cushions of her sofa.

* * *

If there is one thing that can ruin a perfectly good afterglow, it is the ice-cold realisation that one has fucked up a brilliant friendship by fucking said friend.

Draco lay there on Hermione’s sofa, holding her against his body, enjoying the feel of her curves against him, berating himself for being right all those years ago.

Men and women couldn’t be friends. Fact. Exhibit A: The lead ball of anxiety pulling his stomach down against his spine. He had to get out of there before things got even more complicated.

Which brought him to his next dilemma. How long is an appropriate time to cuddle? Five minutes? The rest of the night? If he left now, would she be pissed at him? Also, why was he feeling guilty? She’s the one that invited him over for some pity sex. She got what she wanted. He should be free to go, right?

Except - he didn’t actually want to go. 

Which made the whole situation unbearable.

Next to him, Hermione stretched languidly and he tried to ignore how his cock responded to the feel of her breasts pressing against him, her nipples hard. Her leg was thrown over his waist and he could feel how wet she was against his hip. It would be so easy to just roll over and start on round two, but he couldn’t move.

Hermione leaned up and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Do you want some water?” She pushed herself up and over him, grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapping it around her before heading into the kitchen.

“No,” Draco said politely, using her absence to start gathering his clothes and getting dressed.

“Going somewhere?” Hermione asked as she walked back into the living room holding a glass of water. “I thought we could put on a movie.”

She knew. 

She knew because they had discussed this before - how Draco makes excuses to leave his one night stands. She knew everything about him. He couldn’t lie to her, but he had to.

“I...board meeting. In the morning. I have to fire my VP for lying on his expenses.” He quickly pulled on his pants and slipped on his shirt. Draco noticed how Hermione sank onto the sofa, curling up like a millipede when you poke it. He felt that he had to make his exit up to her, but he needed time to process what the hell they’d just done. “I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. Are you available?”

She nodded mutely.

“Great. Say at seven. The Bistro?” He buttoned up his shirt and slipped on his shoes, shoving his socks into his pocket.

She nodded again.

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.” After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Before Hermione could open her eyes, he was through the Floo and home.

* * *

Abigail was pulled out of sleep by her smartphone ringing loudly beside her. She poked Blaise in the ribs.

“Your phone is ringing,” she muttered.

“Not mine,” he replied, face pressed into the pillow. “Yours.”

Blaise’s smartphone began to ring.

The couple groaned as they turned to reach for their phones and answer them.

“Hermione?” greeted Abigail.

“Malfoy, do you know what time it is?” grunted Blaise.

“I shagged Granger,” said Draco, his voice heavy with regret.

“I slept with Malfoy,” replied Hermione, sounding shocked.

“Great!” exclaimed Blaise.

“About time!” Abigail congratulated Hermione.

The couple exchanged a glance.

Draco? Mouthed Abigail to Blaise, who nodded. She pointed at her phone and mouthed Hermione. Blaise raised his eyebrows.

“It was a mistake,” replied Draco.

“We shouldn’t have done it,” Hermione said sullenly.

“We should get some breakfast to discuss this,” said Abigail.

“Wanna come over for coffee?” offered Blaise at the same time.

The couple froze. Their friends weren’t ready to see eachother yet, evidently.

Negative responses came from the callers and the couple sighed in relief.

“Just tell him it was a mistake,” Abigail soothed her friend.

“Are you going to talk to her about it?” asked Blaise.

“We’re having dinner tonight.” was the reponse from Hermione and Draco.

“Okay,” said Abigail gently. “I’ll see you later. We can talk then.”

“Let me know how it goes,” said Blaise to Draco.

The couple hung up their phones, placed them on the side tables and snuggled up together.

“Those idiots,” snorted Blaise.

“Promise me I’ll never have to be out there ever again.”

“I promise.”

* * *

Hermione tried on five different outfits for their dinner date. It was unprecedented for her. Even with Cole, she’d just grab the nearest and cleanest dress. Before having become intimately acquainted with Malfoy’s cock, she really didn’t care how she dressed when they met up. So why did it matter so much now? 

Because the sex had been amazing. It had stretched her in every direction, shattered her and then pieced her back together in such a way that she didn’t feel like anything she had really fit how she felt now.

Not that Malfoy was some sex god, but he did know how to locate a clit and go to town on it. With his tongue and his fingers and his tongue and his fingers and his...Hermione shook herself out of the mental loop.

Yes, okay. So he knew his way around a woman’s body. He should after all the practice he’d gotten over the past few years. He still remained a snarky wanker in general.

And ironically, he was also her best friend.

It was a mistake. 

Hermione only hoped she got to say it first.

* * *

Draco sat at his desk, staring out the window at the view.

Merlin, he hadn’t had such a great shag since… well, maybe since...no. Not even Genevieve was as responsive and passionate as Granger when he was between her thighs. 

He could easily spend days there, tasting and touching, rubbing and licking her. The sounds he elicited from her were nothing he had imagined she was capable of in all the years they’d known each other. Turns out when Granger orgasms for real, she can’t form words, just guttural moans. Oh gods, unless she faked it this time too? The smile on her face afterwards seemed to help him believe that it was real.

But at the end of the day, she was his best friend. 

It was a mistake.

He just hoped she’d say it first.

  
  


* * *

Remember that double date they had with Blaise and Abigail all those months ago?

Well, tonight had turned the awkward up to eleven. It seemed as if they couldn’t look each other in the eye. They had run out of small talk months before and everything they had to say was impossible.

It was only after their starters were taken away that Draco dragged some words out.

“You look beautiful.”

Hermione blushed, mostly in embarrassment as she flashed back to all the outfits she’d tried on and rejected. “Thank you,” she replied and took a deep breath, grateful to Malfoy for breaking the silence. “It was a mistake.”

Draco sighed in relief. “You’re right. It was a mistake.”

“I’m so glad you agree. I like us being friends.”

“Me too.”

“Good.”

“Excellent.”

“Brilliant.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They exchanged a smile that didn’t really reach their eyes and ate in silence for a while before Draco spoke up.

“It’s so nice when you can sit with someone and not have to talk. It just shows how really comfortable you are.”


	6. Chronic Foot In Mouth Dead Ahead...

Blaise proposed to Abigail five months and three weeks after they met, which was a month after they moved in together. Two months later, they got married. Draco was the best man and Hermione was the maid of honour.

The wedding was an elegant affair hosted in Wagner Cove in Central Park.

It was also the first time Hermione had seen Malfoy since their awkward post-coital dinner. She blushed furiously as she walked down the aisle towards Blaise and Malfoy, embarrassed at how she had practically thrown herself at him the night of Cole’s announcement. As she reached the dais, she glanced at him and he looked away. Her embarrassment was overtaken with blind rage.

How dare he dismiss her like that! After everything, all those years they spent building their friendship just for him to treat her like another notch in his belt. The audacity he had standing there, looking anywhere but at her, cutting a dashing figure in his designer suit. Why she ought to say something. She will say something. She is going to say something right now.

She opened her mouth but barely got a word out as the wedding march began to play. Well, Abigail would call it a wedding march. The guests, if pressed, would say it was a lovely piece of music, although they were a bit vague on its appropriateness for a wedding. Abigail didn’t glide so much as swan down the aisle as the string quartet tried their best to play “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails.

Hermione would have appreciated the inappropriateness of the song had she not been focused on burning a hole through Draco’s head with the power of her mind.

Draco could feel the ice-cold trickle of her stare as he turned to watch Abigail approach. He glanced at Blaise and enjoyed the dumbfounded expression on his friend’s face. A glance down at his hands to check they weren’t trembling, a quick survey of the guests, a lingering look at the flowers arranged around the room. Really, anywhere but at the woman who was probably planning a curse so vile he should leave the country immediately after the I do’s.

See, Draco was wrestling with an unfamiliar feeling that had him questioning every decision he had ever made. It was unlike the hollow numbness that came with Genevieve and her abandonment. He felt entitled then to wallow in his pity. 

This new feeling was different. It made his throat close up, his chest tighten and his hands sweat. To borrow an expression from the old movies he enjoyed, he felt like a heel. Like a no good, dirty, rotten scoundrel. 

And he didn’t like it.

In his efforts to avoid looking Granger directly in the eye, his eyes somehow ended up where, let’s be honest, most men’s eyes end up - her cleavage. He noticed how her skin was close to the same shade it was when they had sex, which reminded him of how he treated her after the sex and he circled back to feeling like a wanker. But that dark gold dress she was wearing made her look like a Greek goddess and it left him breathless.

This was going to be a very long day.

* * *

After the vows and rings were exchanged, the wedding party moved into the ballroom next door for the drunken festivities part of the evening.

Hermione was torn between finding Malfoy and giving him a right dressing down and hiding behind an impressively large flower arrangement.

The flower arrangement won.

Draco was wandering around the edge of the party, now that the formalities had been observed and the champagne was flowing. It all felt pointless without his best friend beside him to crack jokes and share a quick spin around the floor.

As if thinking about her had conjured her from nowhere, he spotted her leaning against the wall, partially hidden by a monstrous explosion of Gerber daisies. He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and headed over to her.

“Can I just say, without making it awkward,” Draco began, offering her a glass. “You look beautiful.”

She accepted the glass and politely answered. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“So, how have you been? It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

Hermione sipped her champagne. “I’ve been fine, thank you. Just busy.”

Her formal tone hurt as if each word was a stab with an ice pick to his chest.

“How have you been?” she asked, clearly out of politeness enforced by being raised British.

“I’ve been busy too. You know, work and all that.” He sipped his drink. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

“It was,” Hermione agreed.

This couldn’t be the end of their conversation, could it? Draco grappled for something to say. “You know, Yule is coming up. I always hope it’s going to be a good one, but every year I’m disappointed. I think it’s because when I walk down the street, I keep finding myself looking up at the apartment buildings in case someone has decided to throw themselves off in a fit of holiday despair.”

Hermione stared at him, speechless, before shaking her head.

“So…” Draco drew out the word for longer than he should. “Blaise mentioned that Abigail said she was going to introduce you to her friend Arthur. Blaise says he’s quite the catch.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Malfoy.”

“Why? Because of what happened between us?”

“No, I just don’t feel like talking about my personal life with you.”

“Granger, we can’t hold what happened over our heads forever. It happened ages ago.”

Hermione turned to face him, her face pale. “Ages ago? Malfoy, it was three weeks ago.”

“Yes, but in dog years, it was a lifetime ago.” He felt himself losing control of the conversation and saying everything wrong. 

“So which one of us is the dog in this analogy?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Because you’ve behaved quite dog-like in the wake of what happened.”

“That’s not fair, Granger,” his voice was getting louder. “I just don’t see why you’re making a big deal of it. We had sex. People have sex all the time. It’s not a big deal. We both agreed it was a big mistake.”

“Huge mistake,” she agreed ruefully, watching a woman nearby pull the Flowergirl away from them, her hands clamped over the little girl’s ears.

“But...look, Granger, it’s always the same thing. The minute you make love to someone, expectations creep in-”

“I’m not some stranger you picked up in a bar, Malfoy, and I never had any expectations-”

“Rubbish. You suddenly had some expectation of how I was going to treat you afterwards-”

“The same way you’ve always treated me, like your friend. Not another mark on your bedpost.”

“Technically we shagged on your couch. But you see? You’re blowing this way out of proportion. You can’t keep using me as an excuse to not date. I am not your stand-in boyfriend. You don’t get to treat what happened like some romance novel.”

“How the hell can you stand there and say that to me? Haven’t you even considered the possibility that it meant something to me? You know how I feel about sleeping with people.” Hermione’s voice had grown to match his in decibels. “The worst part was, you couldn’t get out of there soon enough.”

“That’s not fair, Granger. I didn’t go over to yours with the intention of shagging you. That was all you.  _ Oh Malfoy, I’m so sad. No one wants to marry me.  _ You looked at me with those big eyes… what else was I supposed to do?” Draco had dropped the forgotten champagne flute on the carpet and his hands were clenched in fists at his side.

Hermione’s arms were now akimbo and her face red with rage. “Are you honestly standing there and telling me it’s all my fault? That I was some pity shag?”

A couple dancing nearby winced as they caught Hermione’s words and quickly foxtrotted to the other side of the dancefloor.

She didn’t even give him a chance to respond. Her hand flew out and slapped him across the face. “Fuck you, Malfoy.”

Hermione pushed past him and stormed off towards the exit. Draco chased after her, but she was smaller and slipped through the crowd. By the time he got outside, she was gone.

* * *

Draco is man enough to admit that his behaviour at the wedding was not his finest moment. He played the argument over and over in his mind, trying to figure out where he went wrong and how he was going to apologise.

An itemised list to apologise for every bad thing he said? He didn’t think there was enough parchment in the world to cover it.

How could he have been so heedless of her feelings? The entire time they had been friends, Granger had repeatedly said to him that she couldn’t do casual sex. She wasn’t a one night stand person. 

He spent the weeks leading up to Yule writing notes of apology to Hermione that were returned unopened and, after a while, in little bags carrying the ashes of the parchment. He read every book and website he could about women and relationships and communication and sex. Draco sent text messages and left voicemails on her mobile repeating his apologies.

One day, he took a chance and called her from his office. When she picked up, she sounded distracted.

“Granger! Don’t hang up. Please, just, give me a few seconds.”

She was quiet on the other end, but she didn’t hang up. Draco pushed on.

“I am the biggest idiot on the planet and in the history of the world. I am so sorry for all the vile things I said and how I acted towards you. It is inexcusable, but I’m hoping you’ll offer up a Yule miracle and forgive me?”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. I am not your consolation prize. I can’t do this anymore.” She hung up.

Draco felt the bottom drop out of his world.

* * *

Hermione Granger has made it her life’s mission to never, ever be wrong. What’s worse than being wrong? Being called out on behaviour that you didn't even realise you were exhibiting.

When did she start treating Malfoy like a boyfriend? Was it suddenly or did it just creep upon them? It wasn’t as if she was turning down dates to spend time with him instead, right?

Wait, she turned down Liam to go watch a movie with Malfoy. And then she cancelled on Gavin to mock art hipsters at a gallery with Malfoy. Then there was the time she ran very late to meet Malcolm because her and Malfoy had gotten involved in a spontaneous chess match in the park that ended up being best of thirty games. 

Malfoy was her automatic plus one to everything she attended. 

Malfoy made her laugh.

Malfoy kept up with her when she talked about big ideas and concepts.

Malfoy was such a big part of her life.

Oh hell. Somewhere over the past few years, she’d fallen in love with the wanker.

Stupid Granger, why couldn’t she fall in love with someone normal? Oh wait, she had and that had not turned out well at all.

True, Malfoy’s behaviour was astoundingly atrocious, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. She called him. She kissed him. She chose to have fully consensual sex with him. Was she really trying to corral him into a relationship beyond friendship?

Hermione considered all the conversations they had had over the years. Malfoy truly was a once bitten, twice shy person, all things considered. That fucking Genevieve did such a number on him, of course he was going to be terrified of anyone getting near his heart again.

She had done exactly the same thing, hadn’t she? After Cole, she shut off all routes to her heart, including physical intimacy, whereas Malfoy was using it in some sort of revenge against the world. You can fuck my dick, but you’ll never fuck my heart.

On the other hand, if Malfoy was going to use her moment of weakness as another opportunity to get back at women, he could go get stuffed.

Another note came through her Floo and she instantly set it on fire. 

Fuck him.

* * *

It was New Year’s Eve and Hermione found herself doing exactly what she didn’t want to be doing - attending the Drake Industries New Year’s Eve bash after Geoff and Abigail had begged to join her. It was the New Year’s Eve hot ticket event.

Throughout the evening, she kept an eye out for Malfoy, but she couldn’t find him anywhere. On the one hand, she was relieved, but on the other, wasn’t it rude to not attend the party you’re hosting?

Geoff and Abigail had abandoned their spouses for the evening to spend it seeking out every single man at the party and introducing them to Hermione, who was not in a very flirtatious mood. She, in turn, sent them on their way with a few words and a lie about seeing them again.

It was nearing midnight and Hermione had no one to kiss and the reminder of Malfoy’s promise the year before stung, because, in all honesty, she wanted him to kiss her. 

She decided to sneak out of the party and head home. Maybe she’d forget about the whole thing if she wasn’t surrounded by people kissing.

Malfoy was sitting on the steps leading up to her front door as she walked down the street towards her house. His head was in his hands and he looked utterly miserable, his back bowed and shoulders almost up to his ears. At the sound of her heels hitting the pavement, he looked up and unfolded himself, his hands held up to placate her.

He began speaking as she got closer.“You’re not a consolation prize. You need to know that from the get-go. I was such a world-class arsehole to you because it wasn’t just sex for me. It was something so much more and that scared me to death. You scare me because you make me feel so good about myself and the world when I’m with you. I didn’t even know it was possible to be such a grinning idiot until I started spending time with you. You laugh at my jokes, which not a lot of people do, including my mother. You’re fucking difficult to take out to dinner, but I get a kick out of watching the server’s face when he takes your order. You blow me away with your intellect and I have never read so much in my life if only to keep up with you - and I love that. I love you, Granger. And I am sorry for being a blind idiot to not see it before. I know you told me to leave you alone. I got the message loud and clear. But I couldn’t go into a new year without telling you how I feel, maybe start the next year with a clean slate, you know? So here we are. I just need to say this and I will never bother you again. You’re my best friend, the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and it would be really amazing if the rest of my life could start tonight, with you.”

Hermione stood frozen on the sidewalk, tears running down her cheeks. After a few silent moments, Malfoy seemed to lose his confidence and his shoulders hunched up again as he shoved his hands into his pockets. With a curt nod, he began to turn away from her.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” cried Hermione. 

He turned back to her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Fuck you.”

“I feel that’s a rather harsh reac-”

“Shut up. You… I just...You can’t just say things like that and expect me to stay mad at you, and believe me, I want to stay mad. It’s the only thing stopping me from dying of embarrassment.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, I’m the one that just figuratively held up a boombox under your window.”

“Malfoy, please. Cameron Crowe? Really?”

“He’s a cinematic genius. But that’s for another time. Why would _ you _ be embarassed?”

“Because, Draco. Against my better judgement, I fell in love with you too.” She tilted her head back to look up at the wintery New York sky as if expecting to be struck by lighting for admitting her feelings. “Like a bloody idiot.”

Draco took an uncertain step towards her. “In that case, we can be idiots together?”

Hermione stepped up to Draco, narrowing the distance between them. “Haven’t we always been idiots together?”

Draco hesitantly reached for her hands, waiting for permission to take them. She took his hands in hers and pulled him closer to her. “I really want to kiss you, but -” he whispered, uncertainly.

Hermione pushed up on her toes and kissed him, reaching up with her arms to wrap around his shoulders.

It was long after midnight when they stopped kissing. 

“Happy New Year, Draco.”

  
  


The End.


End file.
